


Making the Best of the Wurst Situation

by BadlyWrittenNewcastleFanfiction



Category: Newcastle Drag Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-12
Updated: 2020-05-12
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:47:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24146122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BadlyWrittenNewcastleFanfiction/pseuds/BadlyWrittenNewcastleFanfiction
Summary: Layla's having a bad night, but there's someone here to make it all better.
Relationships: Layla Sphynx/Delonco





	Making the Best of the Wurst Situation

After a long hard week of being Layla, Layla Sphynx just wanted to go to the club, let loose, and have a good time. Pink Room was packed, but that was fine by Layla because she was nine feet tall and could see over the top of everyone. Plus, once she got on that stage, the more people there were in the club, the more people there were to watch her dance.

You see, Layla was a _dancer._

She didn’t often mention it, though, so you’re forgiven for not realising that she was in fact a _dancer_.

Strutting through Pink Room, Layla waved a hello to PlastiQ in the DJ box. PlastiQ didn’t see, too busy engaging in a heated conversation with Pebble in which she was desperately attempting to decipher whatever Pebble was saying. Her accent was strong. Layla shrugged, and continued on her route to the stage.

Climbing the couple of the stairs up to the stage, someone tried to grab Layla from behind. She spun around, and glaring at the random peasant who dared attempt to touch her, Layla used her Sailor Moon pigtails to whip them across the face and push them down onto the ground.

“Calm down, Layla.” Cara Bonara said, rushing to the side of the fallen person. She helped them to their feet. “It’s only Brenda.”

Brenda huffed and brushed themselves off as they stood. “Yeah, Layla. I was just going to give you a hug.”

“Oh,” Layla said, sheepishly, “sorry, Brenda. The hair has a mind of it’s own. I can’t control it.” One of the ponytails began twitching as Benda took a cautious step forward. “Settle down, settle down.” Layla told her hair, similarly to the way Ned Flanders would tell his moustache to calm down.

Cara and Brenda exchanged concerned looks.

“It’s okay, Layla.” Brenda said slowly. “I’m just going to go over here, now. Bye.”

Cara nodded in her agreement, and the two took off in the direction of the stairs, periodically looking over their shoulders at Layla with a combination of fear and alarm.

“Okay, hair.” Layla said aloud. “Let’s do this.”

Layla was a _dancer_. She never mentioned it, though so you would be forgiven for not knowing she was a dancer.

“I’m voguing.” Layla told the people dancing near her. “Watch me vogue.”

The people did not watch her, but instead left the stage.

“I’m a professional!” Layla shouted after them. “People pay me to dance!” Her pigtails raised in anger lashing out towards the group. The hair swiped at the group’s ankles, knocking all four over like goddamn skittles.

“Oh my God!” Brenda shouted, running back up the stairs. “She’s got superpowers. She’s magic.”

Cara shrugged. “Meh. I’ve seen better. Baron can make me come with just a flick of his wand.”

Baron swooped past, grinning brightly, wand in hand. “Hi, Cara.”

Cara’s eyes went wide. “I have to go.”

“Ew.” Brenda said, watching Cara follow Baron out of the club, walking like she’d shit herself. Brenda looked around at the reams of people, completely ignoring Layla’s magical aggressive hair. “Is no one concerned about this?” She asked. “Layla’s hair just beat people up. Why is no one reacting?”

“Because,” PlastiQ said, leaning over the top of the DJ booth, “they’re too busy watching her dancing.” She nodded in the direction of the stage, and Brenda looked over.

Layla was a _dancer._ She never mentioned it, though so you would be forgiven for not knowing she was a dancer.

“Cube! Cube! Cube!” Layla shouted, voguing so aggressively that the stage had cleared of people terrified a stray ninja hand was going to take them out. “Head! Shoulders! Knees! Toes!” Despite the emptying stage, a crowd was gathering below on the dance floor to cheer Layla on.

“Whoo!”

“Yes, Laser Fingers! Yaasss!”

“Do the invisible tiny skipping rope!”

“Has anyone seen my shoes?!”

(That last one was Pebble…obviously.)

The crowd was going wild, and Layla was loving every second of it.

You see, Layla was a _dancer_. She never mentioned it, though, so you would be forgiven for not knowing she was a dancer.

People cheered and shouted. Snapped their fingers and clapped. People were losing their minds over her amazing dance moves. It was like watching someone doing the Macarena. Layla stood tall, absorbing the cheers, and began her signature move: spinning around, but quite fast.

Spinning faster than a middle-aged mother on a stationary bike, Layla did not see the danger moving towards her. Brenda and PlastiQ watched in morbid fascination as something rose above the crowd, and flew through the air towards her. It all seemed to happen in slow motion. It moved like an elegant torpedo, twirling through the air, soaring towards its target. Then…

BOOM

It hit Layla in the head, like a sausage roll thrown from a distance. Because that’s exactly what it was, a sausage roll thrown from a distance. Not even a German sausage. The audacity.

Layla screamed, holding her head where the flaky treat had collided with her skull. The long blonde pigtails struck out at random, in search of the culprit as PlastiQ scream laughed in the corner. Falling to the floor in a sausage roll-induced concussion, Layla tried to open her eyes. The room was spinning, and everything smelled like Greggs.

She thought she might black out, but just then, a kind face appeared in her periphery. The person got closer, kneeling beside her, and patting her cheek.

“Layla?” The person said. “Layla? Are you okay?”

All she could see was blurry sequins. Layla blinked to clear her teary eyes. The person sitting beside her, was Delonco. “I think so.” Layla said.

“Good. Can you move, then? You’re sitting on my sausage roll.” Delonco shoved Layla to the side and grabbed the sausage roll from under her arse. “Aw, Layla, man.” She whined. “Your head’s squashed it.”

“Sorry.” Layla said. I didn’t mean to. _It_ hit _me_. And I think it might have been my arse that squashed it.”

Delonco shook her head. “Nah your arse couldn’t do that. You’re heads bigger.” She grabbed Layla’s hand. “Here let me help you up.”

“Thanks, Delonco.” Layla beamed, getting to her feet. “I can’t believe someone would do this! I’m the Drag Idol All Star!”

“Uh-huh. I can believe it.” Delonco shrugged. “I threw it.”

In the distance, PlastiQ continued to scream laugh like she was watching Penny Press in the Penny Zone.

Layla’s Sailor Moon pigtails wrapped around Delonco’s neck involuntarily, tightening and choking her until she began turning a dark shade of purple. Delonco pulled at the hair wound around her neck, but to no avail. Despite the pain of not being able to breathe, Delonco felt a stirring in her bald-headed-yoghurt-slinger.

“Why, Delonco? Why would you throw a sausage roll at me?”

Delonco didn’t answer because there was killer hair in the process of murdering her, and she had Pinocchio’s nose in her pants. Layla rolled her eyes and called the hair off.

Gasping for breath and rubbed her sore neck, Delonco coughed and sputtered out her answer. “Because you’re good at dancing. I was giving you a tip.”

“Oh.”

“Didn’t think you’d go and fuck it up with no reason, though. Mind you, to be fair, you _are_ German.”

“I’m offended.” Layla said.

“So are the Jews.”

“Right. Anyway,” Layla said. “Delonco, I’m sorry that I squashed your sausage roll, and for choking you with my super hair.”

“And I’m sorry that I hit you in the head with my sausage roll.” Delonco smirked. “But, if you fancy it, maybe you’d let me hit you with my sausage roll again, sometime? And by sausage roll, I mean my spam-chode. My blood-sword. My penisaurus-rex.”

Layla blushed. “Oh? Delonco, I’d love to have you hit me with your bratwurst.”

“And,” Delonco slid a hand around Layla’s waist and down one of her long blonde pigtails, “maybe you could give me a little cuffs ‘n’ collar with that gorgeous hair of yours?”

“You know,” Layla said, “people never have anything good to say about my long, blonde, straight, hair, except for you. I can’t help my magic hair. I had a one night stand with Baron and I’ve never been the same since.”

“I love your demon hair.”

“You’re different, Delonco.”

“Good different?”

Watching Delonco slide the deformed sausage roll down her throat like a snake eating a frozen rat sideways, Layla swooned. “Of course, good different. Delonco, I’m tired, take me home? Put that Throbbin’ Hood into my Maid Marian.”

“I’m going to root you like one of PlastiQ’s wigs.”

“You’re such a gentlewoman.”

They linked arms as they left, Delonco pausing by the corner table. “Oi! Choriza!” She shouted. “You fancy coming along for some smash and bash, too?”

Chroriza shook her head without looking up from the table. “No, thank you. I am far too busy counting my fruit stickers. And I have to be at big Tesco’s for it opening to get my hands on the new Del Monte banana stickers.”

“Okay, sounds terrible. Maybe later, though, Chroiza.”

The two bid their goodbyes to their friends, simply having to wave at PlastiQ who was still scream laughing at the fact that Layla had been hit in the head with a sausage roll, and left the club in favour of Delonco’s house.

….

Back at Delonco’s, stripped down and ready for some yoghurt-spraying, Layla held Delonco down using her pigtails. One held both hands above her head, the other pigtail, wrapped tightly around Delonco’s throat.

“Okay”, Layla said, “my bearded kebab is ready for your meat mucus.”

“Layla Sphincter,” Delonco choked through the pressure of the hair around her neck, “You’re about to see why they call me the whale.”

“Why _do_ they call you the whale?”

“Because when I come it’s like a fucking blow hole. Grab the tarp, love, You’ve pulled.”


End file.
